


statue of us

by vlieger



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-29
Updated: 2014-07-29
Packaged: 2018-02-10 21:57:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2041680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vlieger/pseuds/vlieger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's had Lukas plastered to his side most of the night, apart from the time they've both spent draped over everyone else. They kept drifting back to each other, though; Basti's not sure whether it was him clinging to Lukas or Lukas clinging to him, or maybe both, but it felt important, sharing this with him, stocking up on memories of Lukas' smile and Lukas' weight tucked under his arm, tied together with the victory like their entire international careers have been tied together, since that first friendly in Kaiserslautern ten years ago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	statue of us

The celebrations are a blur of noise and sweat and drinks. Basti is delirious, he's pretty sure, from a combination of exhaustion and happiness and alcohol. He's dimly aware that smiling is painful, the creases of his skin tugging the cut under his eye, but he can't stop.

Doesn't _want_ to stop, ever. 

He climbs on things and dances and shotguns beers like he hasn't spent a hundred and twenty-odd minutes running himself ragged, and eventually ends up sprawled on his back sometime in the early hours of the morning, grinning like a moron at the ceiling.

He's had Lukas plastered to his side most of the night, apart from the time they've both spent draped over everyone else. They kept drifting back to each other, though; Basti's not sure whether it was him clinging to Lukas or Lukas clinging to him, or maybe both, but it felt important, sharing this with him, stocking up on memories of Lukas' smile and Lukas' weight tucked under his arm, tied together with the victory like their entire international careers have been tied together, since that first friendly in Kaiserslautern ten years ago. 

Lukas isn't with him right now, but Basti's sure he'll turn up again soon enough. He does, too, looming over Basti and nudging his thigh before sprawling on the floor next to him, knees knocking against Basti's, leaning back on his elbows and throwing him that wide-ass grin.

"Passing out on us, Schweini?" he says.

"Fuck off," says Basti easily. "Where've you been, loser?"

"Beach," says Lukas.

Basti rolls his head and sniffs, and yeah, he can smell the salt alongside the sweat and beer, plus there's still some sand clinging to Lukas' calves. He hums, stretching.

"Are you settling in though?" says Lukas, sounding amused. "Gonna sleep here tonight?"

Basti tugs the flag he has draped over him up to his chin like a blanket and makes a stupid face at Lukas, crossing his eyes and pursing his lips. "Maybe I will," he says.

"Yeah?" Lukas lifts a hand to flick his nose. "Too tired to move, huh, old man?"

"Hey," says Basti. "I don't know if you saw, but I got a little beat up out there."

"I saw," says Lukas quietly.

Basti blinks, swallowing, and turns his gaze away from Lukas' stupid face. Most of the time he's able to convince himself he's gotten over Lukas, that Lukas's closeness and constant friendly touches don't affect him anymore, but then he does things like-- like win the fucking World Cup with Basti, and Basti realises that maybe it's not so much getting over it as getting good at pushing those things aside. It's easy, when Basti is in Munich and Lukas is in London most of the time these days. It's necessary. Lukas is still his best friend, sure, but it turns out distance and the distractions of everyday life are good at softening the sting of how Basti has maybe always wanted more, and how he's pretty sure Lukas outgrew it. 

They're also, apparently, really good at encouraging a lie, because with Lukas here now it feels dangerously similar to eight years ago, like something that's always been inside him is desperate to come out, moreso than it has at any point in between, and Basti just-- he _wants._

Lukas scrubs a hand through Basti's hair, nails scratching his scalp lightly, and says, "Anyone else would've stayed down, you know. Or been subbed off at least."

"It's the fucking World Cup final," says Basti, rolling his eyes.

"Still," says Lukas. He tugs gently on Basti's hair and says, "I'm proud of you."

Basti swallows again, throat suddenly tight, and hates as much as he fucking loves how this all feels, raw and vital and so close to the edge of never being the same again.

"You and the rest of Germany, I'm sure," he says at last, voice a little hoarse, but he's glad he can get the joke out, because he doesn't want to get mired down in regrets and what ifs, in wishing things were different, not tonight, because in the end he's not entirely sure he'd want things to be different, not if it got them _here_ , and this is, well. It's pretty fucking perfect.

It's almost all of what he's always wanted. Most people don't even get that much.

Even if he can't convince himself right now that he's over Lukas, they're still here together, they still won the fucking World Cup together, and wanting more than that feels selfish and wrong.

He's a fucking Weltmeister, Lukas is still his best friend, and that's-- that's amazing.

It's _enough,_ he tells himself firmly. 

Lukas laughs and echoes, "I'm sure," letting himself fall back to lie properly beside Basti.

"Old man," mutters Basti, snorting.

Lukas elbows him, but he's still chuckling quietly, grin still wide. 

"Hey," he says. "Wanna get out of here?"

Basti groans. "I know I joked about it," he says, "But I'm pretty sure if I try to walk anywhere I'll collapse. Or, you know, just look really stupid, and everyone's got their phones out. I don't want that on YouTube." He scrunches up his face, looking at Lukas pointedly.

"But you always look stupid," says Lukas blankly.

"Fuck you, at least I don't have a million selfies looking like a dorky grandpa."

Lukas rolls his eyes and says, "I wasn't thinking far. Just my room."

Basti blinks. "You want to leave the party?"

"Hey," says Lukas. "We _are_ the party."

Basti laughs; suddenly, _thankfully_ nothing but lighthearted and happy again.

"Well," he says, struggling to a sitting position, "I can't argue with that."

Lukas grins and stands, holding out a hand to tug Basti to his feet. "Damn right," he says. 

Basti settles the flag around his shoulders and lets Lukas lead them out of the party, dodging a few still-dancing teammates, pausing so Lukas can snap a picture of Per looking like an absolute moron, medal tied bandana-style around his head and demonstrating some truly ridiculous dance moves for a dazed-looking Mesut. Basti snorts, cheeks aching from his grin.

"I'd rather look like a grandpa than whatever that is," Lukas whispers in his ear.

"Yeah," says Basti. "You rock the grandpa thing. I don't think that look is working for Per."

Lukas laughs and grabs hold of his elbow to tug him away.

"Here we are," he says as he ushers them into his room. "Home sweet home-away-from-home."

"Away from home," mumbles Basti, making a beeline for the bed.

"Huh?" says Lukas, dropping his phone and key onto the table by the door.

"Home away from home away from home," says Basti. He frowns, running it over in his head to make sure it came out right. He's pretty sure it did. "I mean, London's not _home_ home, right?"

"Oh," says Lukas. "Well, it is for now, but no, I suppose not. Not really."

"Good," says Basti, nodding. Shit, he's maybe more drunk than he realised.

Lukas just snorts softly and drops onto the bed next to Basti. "Miss me, huh?" he says.

Basti rolls his eyes. "Maybe," he says. "Sometimes. Yeah."

Lukas looks at him, eyes suddenly soft, and twists a little, lifts a hand to cup Basti's jaw.

"What-- " says Basti.

Lukas kisses him. Basti's mouth drops open in shock, but Lukas is still _kissing him_ , so all it does is make it wetter, deeper, Lukas' tongue in his mouth and his hand nudging under Basti's shirt.

Basti makes a stupid, hurt noise and grabs hold of Lukas' collar, tugging til he's forced to throw a leg over Basti's thighs, and bites down on his bottom lip.

Lukas gasps and pulls away. Basti's eyes drop immediately to his mouth, shiny with spit and red from kissing. Basti's own mouth feels raw, the skin around it stinging from Lukas' stubble.

"Fuck," he says. "Lukas, what-- "

"I want to," says Lukas, brushing their mouths together again, just light, teasing. "I miss you too."

Basti opens his mouth, then closes it again. He has no idea what to say. Lukas presses in.

He kisses Basti, slow and wet, lets Basti relearn the shape and feel of his mouth while Lukas worms both hands under Basti's shirt and pulls it up under his armpits.

"Off," he mumbles, and Basti leans back and lifts his arms, lets Lukas work the shirt free.

He pushes back in right away, palms sweeping up over Basti's chest, curving around his ribs.

Basti shivers. He still doesn't know what to say, but he thinks, _I want to, too._

Lukas kisses him, harder this time, more purpose, more intent, and Basti finally finds the words to say, "But-- " and, "What about-- " because he's done a lot of stupid, crazy things, but he was never the one who didn't want this. Because he's done a lot of stupid, crazy things, not the least of which was falling for Lukas in the first place, but somehow Lukas has never hated him for any of it, and Basti doesn't think he could stand that now.

Lukas pulls back slowly, biting his lip. He says, "We did this. This is just us. This is just ours." He pauses, hands hovering over Basti's bare hips, and adds carefully, "Okay?"

"Okay," says Basti, like he was ever going to say otherwise. " _Fuck_ , Poldi, okay."

Lukas smiles, softer than he has all night but somehow no less blinding, and leans in again, nudging his nose gently alongside Basti's and slotting their mouths together, warm and easy like it always used to be for them, opening him up slowly, building it back up.

Basti's hands drift back to Lukas' collar, tugging him closer as they kiss harder. Lukas' hands are on his hips, fingers digging in, and Basti mumbles, "You too," against his mouth.

"What?" says Lukas.

"Your shirt, you too, off," says Basti, and Lukas laughs, kissing Basti quick and hard before he strips it off and pushes Basti down onto his back, settling over him.

"Better?" he says, grinning.

"Shut up," says Basti, and bites into his mouth, sliding his hands over the straining wings of Lukas' shoulder blades, arching his spine into the solid heat of Lukas' weight.

Lukas grinds back down against him, sliding his mouth away to press beneath Basti's jaw.

"You were fucking beautiful out there," he says, scraping a little with his teeth.

"I was a fucking mess," says Basti, laughing.

"No," says Lukas. He brushes his thumb over the cut under Basti's eye, swipes his palm over the mud still clinging to Basti's side. "Beautiful, Basti. Stupid, maybe, but that's why."

Basti's mouth works silently. "I had to keep playing," he says eventually.

"I know," whispers Lukas. "You were-- " He shakes his head. "Basti."

"Kiss me," breathes Basti, because he can't take anymore of this, anymore of Lukas looking at him like that, like he's something wonderful and precious, because he's cried enough already tonight and he can feel his eyes stinging again, damn it. He's finally gotten used to Lukas not looking at him like this anymore, he's had to get used to coming so close and missing out, and now here it all is, like Lukas never left, like the losses in '06 and '10 never happened, like it's eight years ago only better, and-- and. He's only ever dreamed about this, all of this.

He doesn't know what to do with the reality.

He wants this _so badly_ , the cup, and Lukas too, all of him, the best friend by his side on the pitch and-- and this something else here too. It's selfish and wrong, yeah, but it's also fucking impossible to ignore, much as he's tried, and now that he has it all he can't do anything but cry like a child and hope that at some point his brain catches up with what's happening. 

Right now it feels like he's looking at this from somewhere else, like he's still a kid looking into a distant, imagined future. Like he hasn't switched from the long practice of wanting into the new state of having, and there's the familiar pull inside him, the familiar ache of longing, coupled with this new, overwhelming fullness. It's too much, too perfect, and he was pretty sure earlier, but in this moment he _knows_ he wouldn't change a single fucking thing.

All of it got him here, to the feel of the Cup in his hands, to Lukas running straight into his arms after the final whistle, to the unexpected, almost miraculous feel of Lukas kissing him again.

This-- this is all he's ever wanted. Not even almost, now that Lukas is pressing in close.

It's good that Lukas seems to be handling it better. Or maybe he's just not thinking as much.

He kisses Basti like it's all he wants right now too, hard and claiming.

Basti moves his hands to cup Lukas' face and arches his neck to give back as good as he's getting, spreads his legs wider to get more friction against his dick.

Lukas groans into his mouth, twisting his hips, knees sliding awkwardly on the bed.

"Come on," mumbles Basti, laughing a little and sliding a hand down to cup Lukas' ass, hold him in place while he rolls up. "Lost your touch there, huh?"

"Shut up," says Lukas, flicking one of Basti's nipples. Basti makes a dumb choked noise.

Lukas lifts his head and grins at him. 

"You like my touch," he adds, smirking.

"Maybe," allows Basti. "But your lines are awful. Worse than ever, if that's possible."

"Oh yeah?" says Lukas. He bites the hinge of Basti's jaw. "Can I-- I want-- can I fuck you?"

"Shit," says Basti. "Fuck, _yes_."

"Good," says Lukas. He sits up, flushed and damp. "That's really good."

Basti stares at him, eyes dropping to the taut flat of his abs, the vee of his hips dipping into his shorts. He reaches out to touch the skin just above his waistband. Lukas twitches.

"You should get naked," says Basti, his voice coming out unexpectedly hoarse.

"Yeah," says Lukas. "You too."

Basti nods dumbly, shoving Lukas away so he can get everything off unhindered. Lukas snorts and shucks the rest of his own clothes, then crawls back over Basti, dicks bumping.

Basti sucks in a breath. "Oh," he breathes, fumbling blindly at Lukas' hips.

Lukas bites down on his bottom lip and thrusts. It's a little too dry, not quite the right friction, but it's also so much what Basti's been wanting that it hardly matters.

He gets a hand between them and wraps it around Lukas' dick, thumbing over the head to gather up the precome and jerking him tight and slow, savouring the weight and width. Lukas makes a noise into his mouth, low and wanting and also familiar, just like the blood-hot feel of him between Basti's fingers. It's been a long time, but Basti still remembers how crazy it always made him, just jerking Lukas off, how the obviousness of it being someone else's dick was weirdly erotic, made something coil tight in the pit of his stomach, his blood hum under his skin.

It still is, it still _does_ , and he arches his own hips in time with his hand on Lukas, letting his dick rub up against his knuckles, squeezing Lukas hard to feel his mouth go slack and stupid.

"Fuck," gasps Lukas, "Fuck, Basti, stop, I-- too close."

"You'd think age would've cured you of that," mumbles Basti, laughing, remembering when they used to do this in hotels elsewhere, when they were barely more than kids, rutting against each other and exchanging handjobs, coming all over each other in no time at all and then going again.

"Fuck you," says Lukas, folding a hand over Basti's and squeezing, stilling him.

"Well, yeah, I'm waiting," says Basti, eyes creasing up as he throws Lukas a shit-eating grin.

Lukas makes a dumb noise somewhere between a snort and a groan and sits up again, reaching into the bedside drawers to pull out lube and a condom.

Basti raises an eyebrow. "Just had those handy, huh?" he says.

Lukas pinches his hip. "Lube is mine," he says. "Condoms are standard issue."

"Whatever," says Basti. He fists his own dick and adds, "Hurry up."

"Yeah," says Lukas stupidly, eyes dropping to follow the movement of Basti's hand.

"See something you like?" says Basti boldly, pushing his hips into his fist.

Lukas trails a fingertip over the slick head of his cock as it pushes through Basti's fist.

"Fuck," grits out Basti, twitching. 

"Yeah, okay," says Lukas, dropping the lube and condom and pushing Basti's legs wider.

He pauses with a hand on each of Basti's thighs.

"What?" says Basti, letting go of his dick uncertainly. It slaps wetly against his stomach, still so hard, and he'd maybe be embarrassed if he wasn't so turned on.

Lukas bites his lip, then says, "You think it's patriotic or traitorous, fucking on the flag?"

Basti lets out an incredulous breath and punches Lukas' arm, _hard._

"Oh my God," he says, and Lukas breaks into his widest, most ridiculous grin.

"Well?" he says.

"I think I'm going to strangle you with it if you don't _do something_ ," says Basti, glaring.

"That's definitely traitorous," says Lukas, but he ducks his head to suck a bite over Basti's hipbone, first one then the other, slotting against him properly to kiss him some more.

"Well, if you get to the fucking I think that's more patriotic, considering we just won the World Cup," says Basti, scrubbing a hand through Lukas' hair and groping his ass with the other.

"We fucking did," says Lukas, lifting his head to grin again. 

Basti matches it, crazy and happy and still not quite able to believe it.

"Fuck," says Lukas, bumping their noses together ridiculously before he sits up, sliding his hands over Basti's thighs, from his knees to the crease where they meet his hips.

"Don't go slow," says Basti, fisting his hands in the sheets, trying to hold still.

"Couldn't if I wanted to," mutters Lukas. He trails a thumb over Basti's balls and Basti bites down hard on his lip, spreads his thighs wider encouragingly. Lukas breathes, " _Fuck_ ," and rubs his thumb over Basti's hole, pressing but not pushing in, barely catching on the rim. 

" _Jesus_ ," hisses Basti. He's forgotten what this feels like, how _good_ it is, how-- how it's just more.

How the scratch of Lukas' fingers against his ass sparks this quivering anticipation, this sudden desperate need to be stretched wide and filled up, electrifying and almost painful.

"Do it," he says, trying to press down. Lukas' free hand digs hard into his thigh.

"I fucking am," he says. He grabs the lube, slicking up his fingers, and then he's pressing back against Basti's hole, sliding one inside without dicking around, and oh, _oh_.

It burns, and it's also so good Basti chokes on it. 

"Yeah?" says Lukas, flicking a smile up at him.

"More," says Basti.

Lukas rolls his eyes and crooks his finger, pressing up and stretching Basti a little more before he pushes a second one in, twisting and scissoring. It's satisfying as fuck, until it isn't.

Basti doesn't have to wait long though, doesn't have to beg. Lukas works him open fast and a little bit rough in a way Basti thinks is maybe half to do with the way Lukas' hands are shaking just barely, and half because he wants to get there as quick as Basti does.

He likes it, not just because it feels good; likes the way it maybe means that Lukas is as worked-up and overwhelmed as Basti, that he's not quite holding it together either.

Basti doesn't _want_ him to hold it together, because he already feels half taken-apart by everything that's happened, by what's happening now, and he wants Lukas right there with him.

It's gratifying, then, when Lukas has three fingers inside Basti, stretching him wide and fucking him jerkily, the way his fingers dig so hard into Basti's thigh he knows it's going to bruise, maybe even draw blood if he digs his nails in much longer, the way he grits out, " _Fuck_ , Basti, God, look at you, are you-- can I-- " and shakes his head helplessly, looking at Basti with wide, blown eyes.

"Yes," gasps Basti, "Fuck yes, come on, put your dick in me already."

Lukas lets out a pained-sounding laugh and pulls his fingers out too fast. Basti twitches and hisses while Lukas rips the condom open, tilting his hips up, waiting, while Lukas rolls it on.

"Yeah?" he says, nudging the head of his dick against Basti's hole.

Basti tries to glare at him; he's not sure it works, because there's sweat stinging in his eyes and his face feels so hot, but he gets out, "If you don't-- " before Lukas groans and pushes in.

"Oh, _fuck_ ," says Basti, dropping his head back. It hurts; Lukas has a pretty thick dick, and he's not slow, not giving Basti time to adjust before he's all the way in, balls-deep in his ass.

Basti couldn't give a shit; he _likes_ it, the burn, the way it cancels out every other ache in his body, the way it makes the jolt when Lukas finally hits his prostate so much sharper. 

He likes the pain in and of itself, really. 

It's like nothing else, can't compare to any other scrape or bruise or ache he's had, only the stretched-open burn of Lukas' dick forcing Basti to accommodate him, filling him up.

Lukas groans and drops down to rest on his elbows, nudging his mouth against Basti's cheek.

"Okay?" he says.

Basti turns his head to meet his mouth. "Fucking _brilliant_ ," he says into a biting kiss.

Lukas grins, bright and a little bit feral, and draws his hips back til just the head of his dick is holding Basti open, wider still than the rest of him, and then thrusts back in.

" _Yes_ ," hisses Basti, twisting his neck helplessly. "Don't stop, don't you dare stop."

"Not gonna," grunts Lukas. Basti huffs a hoarse laugh and digs his nails into Lukas' back as he builds up a clumsy, jerky pace, screwing his eyes shut and shaking with it, just a little, with the feel of Lukas _fucking_ him again, with the way he's too drunk and desperate and _happy_ to be smooth about it. It's stupid and messy and imprecise, and fucking fantastic.

He's rough in a way that keeps Basti grounded, the closest to his own body he's been since before the final whistle blew. He pulls Basti's aching thighs around his hips and thrusts in hard and jerky, sucks stinging bites into Basti's neck and rakes his nails over Basti's scalp, his collarbones, the tops of his arms. He drops enough of his weight into the cradle of Basti's hips that Basti knows he'll be aching more than he already would've, tomorrow.

He's also _careful_ , between the rhythm of his hips and the harsh music of his breath. He cups Basti's face between his hands and strokes his thumbs over Basti's temples, occasionally lifts his head and just _looks_ , eyes wide and blown and awed, like he wants to memorise this, make sure it's really happening, that Basti's still with him. Basti can't quite make sense of it, but it's good, so good, Lukas' dick hitting him right fucking _there_ , the match-scrapes and bruises making his blood fizzle and race, and he couldn't think even if he wanted to. It's all sensation.

He likes that, like football, the sense memory, the recollection of a cleat to the shin or the ground beneath his knees, the sweaty press of his teammates' hugs after a goal.

This is how he remembers Lukas: the curve of Lukas' smile against his cheek, the weight of his arm across Basti's shoulders, the warm nudge of his ankle under the breakfast table.

The width of his dick splitting Basti open.

Lukas talks, too, murmuring wet things into Basti's ear, things that make Basti groan and squirm and clutch harder at Lukas' shoulders, breathing, "So beautiful, Basti, you were-- " and, "So-- so _good_ , I couldn't stop watching you, I wanted to come and kiss the blood off your face, wanted to touch you to make sure you were okay, to feel how you _did_ that, just-- just kept going, just-- " and also, "I never stopped, you know, never stopped wanting this, but it was-- "

That _is_ too much though, so Basti says,"Fuck, Poldi, just-- just shut up and make me _come_."

Lukas laughs, loud and bright, and wedges a hand between them to tug roughly on Basti's cock.

" _Yes_ ," hisses Basti, arching his neck.

Lukas bites it, right over a mark he's already sucked up, and Basti comes, shouting and shaking.

"Fuck yeah," says Lukas, hips still working, "Fuck yes, Basti, there you go, shit, look at you, I-- "

"Do it," says Basti, sliding his hands over Lukas' back, digging into the swell of his ass to pull him in harder, press him deeper, encourage the speed of his thrusts. "Fucking come, Poldi."

" _God_ ," chokes Poldi, and pushes in so hard Basti's eyes water, all of him overworked and raw, so fucking sensitive, and moreso when Poldi just stays there, grinding but not moving.

It's so much, maybe too much, Basti's not sure he can take it, but then Lukas shudders and goes boneless against him, so it's a moot point anyway. He breathes out, shaky.

"Wow," he mumbles, rubbing absently over Lukas' damp back.

Lukas makes an inarticulate noise into his neck.

"Guess I was wrong," says Basti, squinting a grin at the ceiling. "You haven't lost your touch."

Lukas lifts his head and laughs, ducking in to kiss Basti, sweet and wet. Basti smiles at him and frames his face between his hands like he likes to do out on the pitch, foreheads bumping.

When he lets go Lukas lists to the side, squirming until he's got the flag out from under them and the covers pulled up. Then he spreads the flag back out atop everything and slumps back, nudging their shoulders together and slinging his calf over Basti's.

"Fucking Weltmeister," says Lukas, sounding dazed and breathless. "Fucking ten years. Shit."

"Yeah," agrees Basti. "Shit. You and me, man."

Lukas rolls his head to look at Basti. "Stay?" he says quietly.

"Yeah," says Basti. He pauses, then adds, "I mean, if you want me to move you're gonna have to carry me or something, man. I'm definitely done for tonight."

Lukas laughs quietly. "I want you to stay," he says. 

"Good," says Basti quietly. He breathes out, long and steady, Lukas' damp heat along his side.

He doesn't know if this is a one time thing, if it's going to be weird tomorrow, if Lukas will ever touch him this way again. He can't bring himself to worry though, not right now.

He just closes his eyes and is comforted by the knowledge that in a way it hardly matters what happens next, because nothing is ever going to be as good as this anyway.


End file.
